Next to You
by lisbonandjanealways
Summary: Lisbon makes a shocking discovery that will change her life forever, and she must make a decision. Will she, or will she not, bring Jane along for the journey? Or will he even give her a choice in the matter? J/L, No copyright infringement intended.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I have been working on this story for a long time now. A good six to seven months, at least. I am liking where it's going, so I thought I'd post it to see what you guys think. I should be working on _The Girl With the Red Scarf _but I have a feeling this story will be well-liked within the Mentalist fandom, Jisbon and all ;)

Speaking of those two, that season finale killed me. Lisbon's face during that indirect confession. Agh. That's all I have to say.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Lisbon's POV**

_Okay, breathe. Breathe._

I recite these words over and over to myself in my head as I stare down at the little stick in my hands, the stick that sends me a message that will forever change my life.

_For the good? _That is the question.

I am convinced that there must be some sort of mistake, that this can't be happening.

I am proven wrong. Five separate times.

I let the pregnancy test to fall from my hands and clatter to the tile floor. My eyes flutter shut. _Breathe. Breathe, _I command myself as I bring my hands to cover my face. _You can get through this. You will get through this. You are strong enough to get through this. You have to get through this. _

Somehow, my internal pep talk only terrifies me more.

I drop my hands and stand up from my seat on the edge of the tub, swallowing hard as I look into the mirror.

A stranger stares back at me.

She has dark, messy hair and a crazy look in her eyes.

Lost.

I look away from the stranger, shaking my head and groaning.

_This is really happening._

X

I didn't think much of it when I was just a couple days late. It happens. No biggie.

It wasn't until I began to eat more than Rigsby that I grew a bit suspicious.

Then I was a week late, and I began to panic.

I thought back to that one night that fills me with regret each time I allow it to flow back to my mind.

I went out and bought a package of home pregnancy tests, just to be sure.

Five different tests came back positive.

_Oh God._

X

I drag my feet into work on Monday morning, my eyes drooping from lack of sleep over the weekend. I know that I am a mess. My hair is pulled up into a messy bun on the top of my head, my makeup hurriedly put on after sleeping in much too late. My team is already here, in their usual positions. Cho is settled in his chair, a book in his hands. Rigsby is tossing a ball up in the air, cracking jokes, smiling over at Grace. The redheaded agent herself is arguing with Jane, who of course is on his couch, a cup of tea in hand, charmingly explaining why he's right and Grace is wrong. As I enter the bullpen, they all stop what they are doing and glance up at me. I cannot tell if I am touched by the way they all attempt to hide their startled expressions or downright annoyed.

"Morning Boss," Grace murmurs softly, taking in my appearance.

"Sorry I'm late," I apologize; even though I know they don't expect me to. "I overslept."

"You look awful," Jane comments bluntly.

I can't say I am surprised.

Rigsby shoots Jane a glare and glances back at me. "You look fine, Boss," he reassures me, smiling. The big teddy bear.

"Thank you, Rigsby." I know that he is bluffing, but I don't call him on it. I don't even glower at Jane, because I know that he is right. "Anything yet?"

"Not yet," Cho replies.

I try not to huff with relief as I turn and head toward my office without another word. At least we don't have a case first thing this morning.

I had noticed Jane watching me, analyzing me in that frustrating way that he does. I try to ignore the fact that he will be bothering me in just a matter of minutes.

It isn't even a minute. It is only about thirty seconds after getting settled into my office that he appears in my doorway.

"Good morning, Lisbon," he greets me with a smile.

"Morning Jane."

"Nice day today."

"Mm-hmm," I grumble.

"And you seem to be in a particularly pleasant mood."

I glower in response.

"Your eyes are lovely when you're annoyed."

"Would you just get out?"

Of course, he does the exact opposite. He takes a step inside my office and shuts the door behind him, striding over toward my desk and taking a seat across from me. "So, are you going to tell me what's bothering you this morning, or shall I figure it out myself?"

I snort. "I dare you," I retort without thinking.

As soon as I say it, I instantly regret it. The look on Jane's face clearly states, _I will take that challenge._

"I take it back," I say quickly.

Too late. "You didn't get enough sleep this weekend. That much is obvious," Jane begins, gesturing with his hands as he speaks. "Your face is slightly pale. Your hands keep twitching. You keep sighing deeply, the way you always do when you are stressed out and…" He claps his hands together. "Ladies and gentlemen, Teresa Lisbon doesn't even have her morning coffee in hand."

"Great observations, Jane," I sneer sarcastically. "Not so great explanation."

"You're ill."

"You know, you're probably right."

"Fine. Don't tell me. I'll figure it out eventually."

I pick up my pen and turn a majority of my attention back to my work in front of me, attempting to ignore the blond man in front of me. "I'm sure you will."

Cho pokes his head into my office. "Boss, we have a case."

It takes every ounce of strength I have to suppress the irritated groan I am dying to unleash. I push my chair away from my desk and stand up, grabbing my coat. "Fill me in," I request.

"A man was shot in a downtown alley. The alley next to that new department store that just opened up."

"Yeah, I know the place. I'll meet you and the others there."

Cho nods in response and turns to go tell his colleagues.

When I head toward the door, Jane stands from the couch. "Are you coming with me?" I ask him.

He looks amused as he opens the door for me. "Don't I always?"

I smirk at him and walk through the doorway, fishing my keys from my jacket pocket and heading toward the elevator. Jane is right on my heels as I walk, as he always is. I press the button next to the elevators and try to stifle a yawn. Jane is not fooled. "Maybe you should have stayed home today," he suggests. His voice is not condescending but genuinely concerned.

"I'm just tired. I'm always tired," I remind him.

"But today is different," he counters.

"How so? Just because I look like crap?"

The elevator doors open with a _ding _and we both step inside. I press the button that will take us to the parking garage.

"No," Jane says, scanning me again. "You don't look like crap, Lisbon."

"_You_ are the one who told me I did!"

"I didn't mean it." He smiles. "You look nice every day, Lisbon, including today. But today, you just look different. Not just the fact that you are wearing less makeup – which, by the way, isn't unflattering by any means – but you just seem… off."

"Off?" I repeat. "I'm not _off._ I'm fine." The elevator doors open and I start to walk away when Jane reaches for my arm. I try to shake him off, but he doesn't let go.

"You know that you can talk to me about anything, don't you?" His voice is suddenly serious, blue eyes intense. It catches me slightly off guard and I take a moment to collect my thoughts.

I swallow and nod. "I know," I say, because he expects me to say this. But I can't talk to Jane about this. Not yet, anyway. I can hardly look him in the eye.

Jane releases my arm and the smile returns. "Good," he chirps. He extends his arm in a _lead the way _fashion. "Shall we?"

I smile back and walk toward my car with Jane by my side the entire time. As we each slide into our respective seats, I catch myself looking over at him, wishing I could talk to him about this _now. _But it's too soon, and I don't want to spook him with the story of what really happened that night.

X

The victim's name is Gregory Smith. Twenty-five, recently married. He was a popular chef at the restaurant next to the alley where he was killed. He was walking to his car after a long day at work when someone ambushed him and shot him twice in the chest. His wallet and keys are not missing, nor is his wedding ring, so it couldn't have been a robbery gone wrong.

When Jane and I pull up to Smith's home, we both sigh. We hate this part, breaking the news to the victim's loved ones. I look over to Jane. "You can stay in here, if you want," I tell him. "There will probably be a lot of tears."

"How thoughtful of you, Lisbon," he praises as he unbuckles his seatbelt. "But I think I'll come with you."

I raise my brows. "Really? You usually ditch me when I make you come with me."

"People can change," he says with a wink and I almost laugh. Both of us know that isn't true. "Shall we?" he asks for the second time that day as he opens the car door.

I sigh, opening my own door and following him up to the front porch of the little house. I knock on the door and reach for my badge, ready to flash it to the victim's wife. I see the doorknob twist and the front door opens. The young woman who answers the door is very pretty. Soft blond curls, hazel eyes and freckles. Seemingly happy and emotionally unscarred. And here I am to ruin everything for her. "Hello," she greets us tentatively. "Can I help you?

I raise my badge and offer a small smile. "Mrs. Smith?"

"Yes?"

"We are from the California Bureau of Investigation. May we come in?"

The young woman pales, but nods, stepping aside to let us in. The house is charming. Vintage knick-knacks cover the shelves that border the walls, as well as photos of the victim and his wife. "What is this about?" she asks with caution as she leads us to the living room. She takes a seat in one of the chairs, and Jane plops down on the couch. Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I sit down next to him. "Is everything okay? Is it my brother? Is he in trouble again?"

I shake my head. "No ma'am, it isn't your brother." I swallow. "Mrs. Smith, I'm sorry. Your husband was found dead this morning in the alley behind his restaurant."

I watch helplessly as several emotions cross her face. Confusion and anger and finally, grief. Her features crinkle and moisture begins to fall from her eyes. She bows her head and places them in her hands as her shoulders shake and I have to look away. I catch Jane's eye and he grimaces as Mrs. Smith begins to make noise while she sobs.

"Mrs. Smith, I am terribly sorry for your loss," I finally say as I stand up and motion for Jane to do the same. "We can come back later."

"How?" she blubbers as she lifts her face from her hands. Her cheeks are streaked with tears and dark eye mascara. "How did he die?"

"He was shot," Jane answers her. I think he did it so I wouldn't have to, for which I was grateful.

"Shot?" she croaks. "Murdered?"

I nod stiffly. "I'm afraid so."

"Who did this to him?" she demands.

"We're trying to figure that out," I say softly. "And you could help us by answering some questions, but we don't need to do that now. We can come back."

She shakes her head intently. "No," she barks in a watery voice. "I'll answer them now. Anything to help."

I swallow, nodding, and open my mouth to begin the questioning when my consultant speaks up. "We only have one question," he begins, and I allow my eyes to flutter shut. I have no idea what he is about to say and I don't even try to fight him. I simply sit back down again. I hear the woman sniffle in response. Jane finally asks his question. "If your husband were an animal, what animal would he be?"

I suppress a groan and shake my head, keeping my eyes shut. Not this again.

I can tell by the silence that the widow is baffled. I don't blame her. "H-how is this relevant?" she asks Jane.

"Everything is relevant," he responds simply.

My eyes open and I glance up to him. He is wearing a small smile, and I realize he isn't looking at Mrs. Smith. He is staring at me, as if he is waiting for a reaction. I just roll my eyes at him and glance back at the widow again. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Smith. He is a consultant, and-"

To my utter shock, Mrs. Smith ignores me completely and proceeds to answer Jane's ridiculous question. "Greg would be a dog, a puppy to be more specific," she says. "Free-spirited and always optimistic. He was always smiling, always at my side." I can see tears beginning to well up in her eyes again and an unexpected wave of emotion takes over my body. Who would kill a puppy? I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering what the hell was wrong with me.

Then it hits me. _Hormones._

The sudden realization leaves me speechless and incoherent, and I am not even aware that Jane has bid our victim's wife goodbye. I am pulled back to reality by Jane's warm hand gently shaking my shoulder. "Lisbon," he whispers. "Time to go."

"Right." I hop up from my place on the couch almost immediately and regret it, for a wave of nausea overcomes my senses and I moan. Jane's hands instantly shoot out to steady me as I stumble backwards, nearly falling onto the couch again. "Whoa. Sorry," I mumble to Jane. Then, I turn to Mrs. Smith. "I'm very sorry for your loss," I tell her softly before making my way toward the door.

When I notice that Jane is not following me, I look over my shoulder. He and Mrs. Smith are both staring at me. "What?" I ask them.

"Agent, are you alright?" Mrs. Smith wonders aloud.

"Of course," I reply. "I just stood up too fast." I throw a desperate glance at Jane. "Let's go."

He nods and follows me out the front door and down the steps leading to my car. I am just beginning to fish my keys out of my jacket pocket when he lays a hand on my wrist to stop me. I raise my eyes to glance at him curiously. "What are you doing?" I ask him.

"Maybe you should let me drive," he suggests gently.

I scoff and shake his hand away. "No chance." I grasp my keys and pull them out of my pocket, walking around the car to the driver's side.

But Jane doesn't back down. He grabs my shoulders and spins me around. "You aren't yourself today. You should let me drive," he says again.

"Jane, I'm fine," I insist, turning to face him.

"_Teresa._" He drags out my name and I sigh. I hate when he plays the first name card. I try not to let it affect me but more often than not, it does, not that I will ever admit this to him. I look up at him again and notice the look of genuine concern in his eyes. I curse under my breath and hand him the keys, walking over to the passenger side of the car.

"Thank you," he breathes once we are in the car.

I don't reply. I simply stare out the window like a pouty teenager avoiding conversation from her parent.

"Are you hungry?" he asks as he pulls away from Gregory Smith's home.

I suddenly realize that I am famished. "Yes," I admit.

"Where would you like to eat lunch?"

"I don't care."

"Okay."

I swallow and continue to look out the window. While I am glad that Jane doesn't continue to push me to tell him what has been bothering me all day, I know it isn't a good sign.

It means he already knows.

X

"What are you having?" Jane asks me from behind his menu.

"A salad, probably," I reply as I take another long sip of my water.

"So predictable." He sets his menu down and smiles at me. "I'm having their famous sandwich."

"What's on it?"

He shrugs. "I have no idea."

I roll my eyes and sigh as I look around the restaurant. It was a cute little place with waiters and waitresses that wore red aprons that matched the booths. The radio was faint, soothing background noise, along with the low hum of customer conversation.

"Lisbon, are you sure you're alright?" Jane asks.

I nod automatically. "Yes. I'm fine."

"Why are you keeping this from me?" He seems amused, not curious, and suddenly I am exasperated.

I sigh again and meet his eyes. "Why?" I snap. "It's not like you don't already know."

"I have my theories, but I am not a hundred percent sure," he confesses.

"Well, that's a first." I take another sip of water. "However, I am interested in your theories. Care to share them?"

"Only if you tell me if one of them is correct."

I smile triumphantly, knowing that there is no way he will ever guess. "Okay, deal."

"Really?" he asks, surprised.

I nod.

He straightens up in response, his face lighting up like an excited little boy. "Okay. Theory number one: your brother cancelled his plans to come visit you this week."

My jaw drops and I point an accusing finger at him. "How did you know James was coming?"

"You smelled like cleaning supplies all last week, meaning you must have been trying to make your apartment look especially nice for a guest. I heard you asking Van Pelt for a recipe, which means you must be planning a dinner for somebody. You have been biting your nails lately, something that you absolutely _never _do unless you are nervous." He winks. "You and I both know how much you hate when people bite their nails."

My face flushes, remembering our conversation about a guy I used to date. "For all you know, I was spring cleaning and am stressed about work."

"But you just confessed to James coming."

"Well, yes, but he didn't cancel. He will be here Thursday."

"Can I meet him?"

I blink at the sudden change of subject. "You want to meet James?"

Jane flashes me his charming smile. "I would like that very much."

"Why?"

"Why _not_?"

"Answering my question with another question is childish," I point out.

He shrugs. "Why does it matter _why_ I want to meet him?" he asks. "I want to meet your brother, Lisbon. Is that so hard to believe?"

"It's just random, that's all."

"Anyway." Jane grins, diving back into the previous subject. "So it isn't your brother cancelling plans."

"No," I sigh, wanting this conversation to end. I briefly consider giving in and telling him my news but immediately decide against it. I also consider lying to him but I know I would be caught.

"Okay." He taps his finger to his chin and glances up to the ceiling, and I almost smile. I have seen him like this a thousand times before, but usually when he is in this position, he is being a smartass and trying to piss someone off. Now, he looks like he is genuinely puzzled, and wanting to know the answer. "Theory number two," he continues. "You are honestly ill and you just hate admitting it."

"Why wouldn't I admit _if _I were sick?"

"Because when you are sick, you feel weak and powerless, and you hate feeling weak and powerless."

I laugh. "That is pathetic. _And _incorrect."

"What's incorrect?" he wonders in amusement. "The theory, or the fact that you feel weak and powerless when you are ill?"

I roll my eyes. "Both."

"Maybe the theory is wrong," he allows, "but you and I both know you hate being sick."

"_Everybody _does, Jane!"

He eventually gives up on that argument and asks, "So the theory _is _wrong?"

"Yes," I huff, exasperated. "Jane, can you please just stop? Please?"

"Not until you tell me what's up, Lisbon."

"Jane, it's nothing!" I argue. I become acutely aware that I have raised my voice and I soften my tone. "It's nothing," I repeat. "And you shouldn't worry about it."

"If you think," he says slowly, "that I am going to just let it go you are crazy." He leans forward onto the table and stares at me, making me slightly uncomfortable under his piercing gaze. "I can see that there is something bothering you, and I mean _really _bothering you. I just want to help. Why won't you let me help?"

"Because I don't need help," I snap. I lower my eyes. "Not yet, anyway."

I can feel him staring at me but I don't give in. I don't look up. I don't say anything. I just stare at his hands, which I begin to notice are scooting closer and closer to mine, but I don't move. I still don't say anything.

"Alright." I can hear the pain in his voice, and instantly I feel guilty. "I'll leave it alone. For now."

I nod, still not completely satisfied, but I will take what I can get.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Wow! You guys are awesome! I was so pleased by the reviews, and I'm so glad that you're all enjoying this. And I'm happy that I have you guessing and wondering. That was my goal. I must warn you that I will keep you guessing and confused throughout the story, so hang in there. It's only just beginning.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Lisbon's POV**

Six Weeks Earlier

_Bam._

_Bam._

_That's all it takes. Two earsplitting gunshots, two bullets, and the serial killer that we have been hunting down for years is finally dead. He's gone. He can't hurt anyone anymore. It didn't take large machine guns to take him down, or an entire army. It wasn't like slaying a dragon. Just two shots from our everyday pistol by my amazing rookie – or not so rookie anymore – agent. _

_Jane looks shocked. No, maybe shocked isn't the correct word. I mean, he does look surprised, but maybe the appropriate word is impressed. As Van Pelt was blowing two holes in the back of Red John's head, I was watching Jane, waiting for his reaction. He clearly hadn't noticed us sneak in. He had been a bit too preoccupied by the man with the large knife threatening his life directly in front of him. And Red John hadn't noticed us either, apparently. As Grace pulled the trigger, and the ear-piercing gunshots filled the room, Jane jumped, startled. I could see the relief on his face as he watched his enemy fall, and the relief switched to pride as he glanced at me._

_He is proud of us. He is impressed that we had the ability to figure out that he had lied about where he was going. He is impressed that we found him, several miles outside of Los Angeles, where we were in the middle of performing a group operation in the Red John case. An unsuccessful one, of course, for Jane intentionally sabotaged us so he could sneak away and have the bastard to himself._

_Cho and Rigsby lower their guns and silently exit the room to call forensics after Van Pelt checks for Red John's pulse. I walk toward Jane cautiously. He is staring at the body of his nemesis, and at Van Pelt. He backs against the wall and slides to the ground, as if he cannot stand any longer. I crouch beside him and try to catch his stunned blue gaze. "Hey," I whisper. "You alright?"_

"_He's dead?" he whispers back, as if the scene that had just unfolded before him wasn't proof enough. He watches Grace straighten up and follow Cho and Rigsby out of the room._

"_Yes," I answer him. "It's over, Jane. You can breathe again." And so can I, I think to myself._

_He nods and reaches for my hand, just as he had done months before. Before, when Lorelei was alive and taunting us. When Red John was getting a thrill out of sending us mixed messages and terrifying us. "I'm sorry I lied to you," he apologizes._

"_No you're not," I reply softly. It's a fact. I'm not angry. Not anymore, at least._

"_Not really," he admits. "I am sorry that I had to lie, but I'm not sorry that I did it to keep you safe."_

_I consider arguing with him, going over the fact that I am a cop, with a badge and a gun, and that I can protect both him and myself. But I don't say anything. I stand up and grab his other hand to pull him up with me. "It's over, Jane," I repeat._

"_Yeah," is all he says._

"_LAPD will probably be here soon," I tell him regretfully, for I do not feel like dealing with the stubborn local cops. "They're going to want a statement from you, but I'll try to shoo them away. I'll tell them that we can handle it." I try to smile. "You should go back to the hotel. Eat a good meal. Get some rest. You really need it."_

_Jane nods again and brushes past me. As he walks out of the room, he doesn't examine the dead body of Red John, like I expect him to. He hardly even looks at the body. He simply steps over it and leaves me alone in the cold, dark room, with the ghosts of his past._

_I watch him go, and my chest tightens as I briefly wonder if I will ever see him again._

X

_Present_

"Hello," Jane cheerfully greets the young man who opens the front door of the house.

The man seems startled, and turns his attention to me.

"Hi, sir," I say in a somewhat irritated tone that is mostly directed toward my consultant. I flash my badge at the man. "We're from the California Bureau of Investigation."

He nods solemnly. "You're investigating Greg's murder," he finishes for me. He steps aside. "Please, come in."

I offer him a sympathetic smile and step over the threshold with Jane close behind me. I stand in the foyer and wait for the victim's brother to shut the door and lead us into the living room. He offers us tea or coffee, which we politely turn down, and then he insists we sit down. "I'm Connor Smith," he tells us. "I'm sure you knew that."

"We're very sorry for your loss," I say gently.

"Thank you," Connor replies. "I assume that you have questions."

I sigh. "Yes, sir." I slide my glance over to Jane for a split-second, to make sure he is behaving. He appears to be, as he sits quietly next to me. "Can you tell us about your brother?"

"He was a great person," Connor says in a small voice. "I mean, when we were kids he got into some trouble but he turned his life around after he met Amelia." He glances up. "That's his wife."

"Can you tell us about their relationship?" I ask.

"He loved her," he explains. He shakes his head. "I don't know why."

"You don't like her," Jane accuses.

Connor shrugs indifferently. "Nah, it's not that," he says. "I like Amelia. She's nice enough, and I can see that she loves him too." He sighs. "She's just nothing like the other girls Greg went after. I don't know what it is about her that caught his eye, but something did, and it changed him." He pauses. "Not necessarily in a bad way, though."

"She's an attractive woman," Jane offers.

It takes all of my willpower to keep a straight face.

"She is," Connor agrees. "But not his kind of attractive."

"What do you mean?" I question.

"I tried setting him up with the most gorgeous women I know," he explains. "Kind, successful, beautiful women who weren't into drugs and partying all hours of the night. Women like Amelia. But Greg wasn't interested in any of them. He was constantly chasing after drug addicts or prostitutes." He smirks. "The _day_ after he met Amelia, he checked himself into rehab. I was so angry. I couldn't understand how a woman he had _just met _could have a greater effect on him than his own brother."

"Were Greg and Amelia experiencing any complications in the marriage? Money trouble or even the marriage itself?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "No. They were so happy." He pauses. "As for the money thing, they were great. His restaurant was doing fantastic and she is a successful lawyer."

"Just one more question, Connor, if you don't mind," Jane promises.

"Not your call," I hiss. _And if you ask him about animals, I'll shoot you here and now, _I almost add.

He looks over to me and grins.

"Um, yes?" Connor asks Jane awkwardly.

"Did you kill your brother?"

I sigh. I should have known.

"What he _meant _to say was-" I begin, in an attempt to smooth things over.

"No, that is exactly what I meant to say," Jane argues, his eyes never leaving Connor's.

"No, I didn't kill my brother," Connor replies calmly, more calmly than I expect.

I nod and throw Jane a nasty glare. "We have to ask, Mr. Smith," I say. "Where were you last night at the time of your brother's death?"

"I was home. Alone, I'm afraid."

"Naturally," Jane mutters.

"Would you be quiet?" I snap. I turn back to the victim's brother. "You'll forgive us if we have a few follow-up questions, considering you don't exactly have a solid alibi." I begin to stand and Jane mirrors my actions, though this time, he actually steps a bit closer to me, to make sure I don't fall. I find myself touched by the subtle gesture.

Connor snaps his fingers three times in an _I've got it _kind of way. "My girlfriend called me on the landline, just a little after 11:30."

"Why so late?" I question.

"Her grandmother passed away late last night." Connor sighs. "My poor girl. She was so heartbroken. Her grandmother practically raised her. She was her role model."

"Does your poor girl have a name?" Jane interrogates.

I throw him another icy glare for his insensitivity.

"Heather Primer."

"We'll have her confirm your alibi." I smile as best as I can. "Thank you for your time, and I'm sorry for your loss."

Once Jane and I are outside, I curse.

"Teresa," he scolds me. "Such language for a small thing like yourself."

"Solid alibi, no motive." I run my fingers through my hair. "It can't be him."

"And that's a problem because…?" Jane trails off in a questioning tone.

"I just want this case to be over with."

As I am heading toward my car, my toe catches on the edge of the sidewalk and I start to stumble. One hand instinctively covers my stomach and the other flails into the air in an attempt to steady myself. Jane is next to me immediately, one hand wrapped around my elbow and the other on my waist. "Lisbon," he barks. "Are you sure that you're okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Just clumsy." I straighten up and smile at him. "Thanks." Plucking my keys from my jacket pocket, I hurry to the driver's side of the vehicle before he can protest.

As I unlock the car, I become painfully aware that he is watching me. Not in his observant Jane kind of way, but his _I know your secret _kind of way. The exact look that can drive any individual absolutely mad.

X

**Jane's POV**

She's pregnant.

I can't understand how I didn't see it before.

The snappy mood, the tired eyes, the dizziness.

As soon as the realization hits me, I am frozen in my tracks. I watch her walk away in that badass lady cop style that suits her so well, and I am completely still. My mouth opens to make an accusation, but I snap it shut. I know that she notices me staring at her, but she doesn't let on. She simply opens her door and slides in, clicking her seatbelt on and staring at me through the window. "What are you waiting for?" her muffled voice demands.

I open my door and duck into the car. I am staring straight ahead as I put my seatbelt on.

"Are you alright, Jane?" she asks softly.

I check myself and grin at her. "Of course," I chirp.

"You seem a little… pale."

My ever-observant Lisbon.

"Do I?" I ask innocently. I shrug. "Ah, well. Nothing to worry about, I'm sure. Where are we going now?"

She is still watching me. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Where are we going now?" I repeat.

She explains to me that we are stopping by the headquarters before we visit Heather Primer and puts the car in drive. As she accelerates down the road, I let my mind wander somewhere else.

_She's pregnant, _I think, allowing my eyes to slide over to her for a brief moment. I still can't believe that I hadn't seen it right away.

I swallow hard and glance out the window, absently watching my surroundings pass me by.

X

"Okay. Thanks, Rigs." Lisbon hangs up the phone. "Rigsby checked Primer's phone record and confirmed that she did call her boyfriend last night on the landline." She knocks on the light blue door of Heather Primer's home.

"So why are we here?"

"Just to straighten some things out."

The door opens.

"Heather Primer?" Lisbon asks the woman who opens the door, flashing her badge.

"Yes," Heather replies cautiously.

"I'm Agent Teresa Lisbon, and this is my consultant, Patrick Jane." She smiles softly at the petite auburn-haired woman. "We're from the California Bureau of Investigation, investigating Gregory Smith's murder. May we come in?"

"Yes, of course." Heather nods, stepping aside to let us pass. She shuts the door and we follow her into the living room. She sits and crosses her ankles in a ladylike fashion, and Lisbon takes a seat in a chair across from her while I stand behind Lisbon's chair. "I'm sure you have questions," Heather Primer says softly. I watch her wring her hands together, then pry them apart nervously, several times. She notices me watching her and I smile warmly at her.

"Just one, actually," Lisbon assures her. "Your boyfriend claims you to be his alibi the night of his brother's murder. Can you confirm that?"

Heather nods again. "I called Connor on the landline last night, to tell him the news about my grandmother."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Lisbon apologizes like the kind-hearted soul she is.

"Thank you."

"Heather," I say, catching her attention. "Why did you call Connor on the landline? Don't most people use cell phones?"

"Yes, but his cell phone was off last night. Dead, I assumed."

"Do you think your boyfriend is capable of murdering his brother?" I ask bluntly, too casual for Lisbon's liking, I'm sure.

"Jane!" Lisbon snaps and I attempt to bite back a dark grin. Doesn't she know by now that I won't listen?

Heather shakes her head immediately. "No, absolutely not," she says affirmatively. "Connor loved Greg, and Greg loved Connor. They were best friends. They were… _brothers._" She shakes her head again. "There's no way Connor could have done this. No way."

"What about Amelia?" I ask.

Heather's eyes darken a shade and she looks pointedly away.

"Heather?" Lisbon says. "Do you think Amelia Smith could have done this?"

I analyze Heather. She swallows hard and laces her fingers together nervously. "I don't know," she finally answers Lisbon. She's a liar. A bad one at that.

"Yes you do," I accuse.

This time, Lisbon doesn't glower my way. She simply stares Heather down.

Heather sighs. "I really don't know," she says, exasperated. "I mean, I have spent a lot of time with them lately, and something about her seems…" She pauses. "Off."

I attempt to catch Lisbon's eye but she refuses to look my way, and I assume that she is afraid she may start laughing if she meets my gaze, which would be completely disrespectful in a situation such as this. Still, I try to meet her eyes, without success.

"Off," Lisbon repeats, her voice a bit squeaky. I actually have to bite back a grin of my own. "What does that even mean?" This is clearly a question for both Heather _and _me.

"She was always nervous around Greg." Heather shrugs. "I don't know. When I mentioned it to Connor, he got all defensive and told me that they were in love, they were happy, and I shouldn't be meddling. Which I'm not, by the way," she clarifies. "It's just… a thought."

"She was nervous?" Lisbon asks. "Do you think he was abusive toward her?"

"No!" Heather answers immediately. "I know Greg well enough to know that he would never, ever hurt anyone. And besides, I really do think that he loved her." She nods wistfully. "He did. He loved Amelia."

"And you loved Greg," I comment lightly.

Both Lisbon and Heather look startled.

"I beg your pardon?" Heather croaks.

"Greg loved Amelia. Connor loves you, but you loved Greg," I reply, and I can see that the simplicity in my tone makes her even more fidgety. I glance over to Lisbon. "Love triangles. They can get so messy, can't they?"

Lisbon smiles at me and turns to Heather. "Yes, yes they can."

"I didn't kill Greg!" Heather squeals. "I didn't!"

"But you were sleeping with him," Lisbon drones accusingly in a tone identical to mine, the tone that never fails to get a suspect all worked up.

I almost smile. That's my girl.

"I love Connor," Heather says.

"No one is saying that you don't," Lisbon tells her. "Heather, we aren't interested in your sex life. We just want to find out who killed Gregory Smith." She stands from her chair. "And I've got to say, your affair with him makes you look pretty guilty right now."

"Meh," I pipe up.

Lisbon stiffens, and then slowly turns to look at me. "What?"

"She may have cheated on her boyfriend with his brother but I don't think she killed Greg."

"I didn't!" Heather adds frantically. "Besides, I was at the hospital all night! The nurses and my relatives can confirm that! I did not kill Gregory."

Before Lisbon has a chance to speak up, I do it for her. "Thank you, Heather, that's all we need as of right now," I say, earning myself a furious look from my lovely lady boss, as expected. "You'll understand if we have a few follow-up questions."

"Of- of course," Heather stammers.

"Have a nice day." I smile and offer Lisbon my hand so she can stand. She declines it, as I had predicted, and instead stands on her own and curtly brushes past me without another acknowledgement toward Heather. I sigh and drop my hand to my side, following her out the front door and down the pathway to our car.

"What the _hell, _Jane?!" Lisbon screeches without turning around.

"I'm sorry," I tell her.

She whips around. "No you're not!" she fires back. "You're not sorry, Jane. You never are!"

"Should we really be doing this here, now? It isn't professional."

"Oh, right. And you care _so much _about professionalism!"

I lay a hand on her shoulder. "Teresa, please calm down," I say softly. "Stress really isn't good for you right now."

"Then don't stress me out!" she retorts and smacks my hand away. She turns back around and storms to her side of the car, opening the door and sliding in. I hear the door slam and I sigh again. I truly did feel guilty for getting her all worked up, especially in her state, but Heather Primer is not guilty for Gregory Smith's murder, that much I know. I step toward the car and open the passenger door, ducking into the car and shutting the door. I glance over to Lisbon, who is staring straight ahead, eyes seemingly empty.

"You know, don't you?" she asks me quietly. "You've figured it out."

I know exactly what she means. I swallow. "Yes."

"Say it," she requests, "just so I can be sure."

"You're pregnant."

Tension overcomes the car and suddenly I am extremely uncomfortable. Teresa is still not looking at me. She continues to stare out the window with a blank look on her face. I hesitate before sliding my hand across the console and grasp hers firmly, waiting for her to say something, anything.

"I'm scared," she finally whispers.

"I know."

"I don't know what to do."

I stare at her a few moments longer before unbuckling my seatbelt and turning in my seat so my body is facing her. "I'll tell you what you are going to do," I say, and I am relieved when she finally looks my way. "You are going to go straight home and get some rest. You are going to take a hot bath and watch awful, cheesy Hallmark movies and you are going to relax. I will go back to the HQ and tell the team that you needed to take a personal day. They'll understand. We will chase down any leads we have so far and do our best to close this case as soon as possible." I smile encouragingly at her and squeeze her hand. "But you need to get home."

Her eyes begin to lose their hardness and are replaced with soft warmth. She briefly glances down at our conjoined hands. "Thank you, Jane." She smiles gently. "But I meant more like, I don't know what I am going to do about, well, my life."

"You're having a baby," I state bluntly.

She winces. "Yes," she says slowly, "but I have no idea what I'm doing." She covers her face with her hands and sighs.

I chuckle and take her tiny wrist between my thumb and middle finger, gently removing one of her hands from her face and then doing the same with the other. She seems surprised by the gesture, probably wondering why I am being so touchy-feely with her. I'm honestly wondering the same thing. "No one does," I tell her honestly. "I remember when Angela told me she was pregnant. I immediately began panicking." I pause for a moment, before smiling and continuing. "Turns out I had a right to panic. Being a parent is terrifying."

"Oh my God, Jane!" she squeals, re-covering her face with her hands.

I have to laugh at that. "Let me finish! And please look at me."

With a heavy sigh, she drops her hands to her thighs and gives me an irritated look. "That wasn't funny."

"It wasn't a joke," I confess, "but being a parent is also one of the most fulfilling duties you can possibly possess." I watch her expression soften slightly and I feel encouraged to continue. "Just wait until you hold your child in your arms for the first time, and I promise you that all of your worries will go away."

She stares at me, clearly stunned at my sincerity.

"And in the meantime," I go on, "I'll be here to help you every step of the way."

Her lips creep into a little smile and she leans across the console and puts her arms around me. I am slightly taken aback at first; this is our first hug that she herself has initiated but I am definitely not complaining. I smile easily and reciprocate the hug.

"Thanks, Jane."

"Of course."

When she pulls back and turns on the car, I swallow nervously. "So," I say casually, "who's the father?"

**TBC**

**I know you're probably mad about a cliffhanger, but reviews would be appreciated ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Okay, this is the chapter that you've all been waiting for...

**Disclaimer:** Jane and Lisbon would have already had some makeout session in the attic or some declaration of feelings if I owned The Mentalist.

**Lisbon's POV**

Six Weeks Earlier

_I watch in irritation as the local police poke around the corpse of Red John. He has not been officially identified yet. We don't know a legal name, but I doubt that we will actually find one. He probably sent it up in flames along with his past, before he decided to kill for sport._

_I stare at the crazy bastard in disgust. This is the man that cut open dozens of innocent women in their own home, in their own bed. Not only did he tear his victims apart, literally, but he also tore apart their loved ones._

_This is the man who killed Angela and Charlotte Jane._

_And in the middle of my hate-filled views, another thought suddenly comes to me._

_This is the man who brought Jane to me._

_The thought does not make me hate the serial killer any less, but I am suddenly extremely appreciative that I was on the Red John case when Jane wandered aimlessly into the CBI building. He could have attempted to work with someone who didn't give a damn about what happened to him and despite my daily bogus wishes that Jane would walk out of my life, I know that I would – will - fall apart without him._

"_Boss?"_

_I am jerked from my reminiscence by my stoic second in command. "What's up, Cho?"_

"_Where's Jane?"_

"_I let him go," I tell him, and I feel an unwanted pang in my chest at the double meaning. "Why?"_

_Cho looks at the body, then back to me. "There's a body of a Red John victim that was just found in the same hotel where we've all been staying," he explains. "The coroners have narrowed down the time frame of the murder to about an hour before Jane ditched us to come here."_

_My heart sinks. "Great," I mutter._

"_Should I call Jane?"_

"_No," I say quickly. "No, don't do that. Let's just go check it out. You and Rigsby and Van Pelt take the van. I'll meet you there."_

_Cho gives me a brief nod before turning and walking out the door._

_I know that I should call Jane, but the truth is, I am currently unsure if I will ever see him again, or if he would even answer my calls. The specific thought brings sudden tears to my eyes and I swallow hard and blink rapidly to make them disappear._

"_Lisbon?"_

_I clear my throat and turn. Van Pelt is standing before me, a look of victory in her eyes._

"_Hey, Grace," I say. I don't often use the first names of my team but somehow it seems appropriate now. "Are you okay?"_

"_Never better," she confesses._

_I almost smile. Almost._

"_What about you?" she asks. "Are you okay?"_

"_Of course." I should be, anyway,_ I think_. Red John is dead. I should be ecstatic._

"_I'll drive you to the crime scene."_

"_That won't be necessary," I insist. "You can go with the guys."_

"_But Jane already left."_

_I bite back some sort of nasty retort. "I know."_

"_I'm driving you." She smiles encouragingly._

_I conclude that there is no use in arguing with her so I simply nod and follow her out._

_But it doesn't feel right. It should be Jane._

X

Present

I swallow hard. "W-what?" I stammer like an idiot.

"Well, typically when one is pregnant," he says in a teasing tone, "she has some help with the process of becoming pregnant."

I glance over at him to examine his expression. It's not light and mocking, like his voice seemed to be. It's strained, rigid. His mouth is set in a hard line. His jaw is clenched tightly. He's not looking at me. He's watching through the windshield but I know he's not seeing anything. In that moment my heart stops as I come to the sudden realization that Jane is _hurt._

"Jane, are you okay?"

"Of course."

"We don't have to talk about this now."

"Alright, if that's what you want."

It's not what I want. Not by a long shot.

In fact, there's really only one thing I _do _want, and it is most definitely _not _his silence.

But I don't tell him this. I turn on the radio and attempt to drown out the voices in my head telling me that he should know, that he wants to know but he doesn't at the same time. He'll be good about it, I know that. He'll support me and help me with anything I need. But deep down, he'll never see me the same way ever again.

X

Six Weeks Earlier

"_We wouldn't let the coroners touch him until we got an ID," Cho explains in a flat tone._

"_Out of respect," Rigsby adds._

_I nod and brush past them and into the hotel room._

_The first thing I notice about the crime scene is the red smile on the wall. No surprise there. It was the killer's intention. But even after seeing that smile for almost ten years, it still makes my pulse quicken and my breath halt._

_I also notice Partridge in the corner of the room and suppress an irritable groan. The last thing I need today is for that creep to pretend like he knows everything there is to know about Red John._

_I notice one last thing and I suddenly begin to panic.  
_

"_Oh my God," I hiss._

"_Boss?"_

_I am snapped out of my ten seconds of pure shock and turn toward Van Pelt. "What?"_

"_Are you okay?"_

_I nod stiffly. "Yes. I'm sure you can easily find the ID of this man through the hotel database or just his luggage." I gesture to the suitcase on the ground. "Let his family and friends know soon. Don't let them find out through the media because there are reporters crawling all over this hotel." With that, I spin on my heel and flee the room quickly, ignoring the members of my team as they shout my name._

_I'm rounding the corner of the hallway when I slam into a bigger, taller figure. I jump back and mumble a hurried _sorry _but a hand reaches out to touch my arm. I flinch, and then notice the grey three-piece suit._

_I look up. "Jane?" I whisper._

"_You didn't call me," he accuses._

_I blink, confused at first, and then glance back toward the room of the crime scene. "Oh," I say softly. It's all I can think of._

"_Yeah. Oh." He doesn't seem angry. In fact, he smiles at me._

"_You seem… happy."_

"_Red John's dead," he responds simply.  
_

_I stare at him. "Jane, I think you're in denial."_

"_I'm not." He was almost… smiling._

"_I think you are."_

"_No. I'm not," he insists._

_I swallow. "The crime scene is that way." I attempt to pass him but he grasps my arm and tugs me around the corner, out of sight._

"_I didn't come for the crime scene."_

_I scrunch my brows together. "You know that it's…"_

"_Red John? Yeah, I know."_

_I don't even both asking how_ _he found out. _"_And you're not here for that?" I ask, skeptical._

"_No, I came for you."_

_My heart sinks. He's come to say goodbye._

_Every muscle in my body is aching to be close to him. I want nothing more than to throw my arms around him and beg him not to leave me._

_But I don't throw my arms around him._

_Instead, he puts his arms around me._

_I am frozen for a solid ten seconds before I finally respond by sliding my arms up and around his torso. I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow hard, determined to keep my emotions in check but completely lose it when I feel him bury his face in my hair. Today's drama is too much and I start to shake. Tears begin to escape from my eyes and leak onto his vest. His hug tightens and I feel myself relax into his embrace and I can't help but think to myself how unlike us this is. Our hugs are rare and never this intimate._

"_Lisbon?"_

_I don't answer, fearing my voice may crack dramatically. I tighten my arms in response instead._

"_I'm not leaving," he finally says._

_I gasp and pull back, wiping at my eyes. "You're not?"_

"_No. I'm not."_

_I smack him._

"_Ow!" he shrieks, though I notice that he still doesn't release me completely. "What's that about?"_

"_I'm _crying, _you son of a bitch!"_

"_I'm sorry." He sounds sincere, and my heart melts as he reaches up to brush a runaway tear from my cheek. _

_I reluctantly step away from his warm embrace and sigh. "They took my statement," I say. "They just need to take Van Pelt's and schedule her counseling and all that, and then the team is free to go. I think I'm going to head out now."_

"_I'll come with you."_

"_I think I'd rather be alone."_

_I can tell my answer catches him slightly off guard by the way he raises his eyebrows. He looks as if he's about to say something and then eventually closes his mouth and nods. "Okay."_

_I attempt a smile as I brush past him, but the tears begin to stream down my face all the way to the elevator._

_X_

Present

"Why'd you do it, Jacob?" Rigsby asks the man sitting across from him, two days after my awkward car ride with Jane.

I stand behind the glass and slide my glance over to Jane. I'm almost positive that he knows exactly why this man killed Gregory Smith. Jane has been relatively quiet the past couple of days, besides a brief "might want to check into the wife's brother".

"He was cheating on Amelia," Jacob replies.

"Yes. He was. So you were defending your sister's honor?"

The young man shrugs. "In a way, I guess," he says. "I really didn't plan on killing him. Honestly."

"Then why'd you have a gun with you?"

Jacob sighs. "I'm sure you know by now that my record isn't great," he offers. "And there are a lot of sketchy people out there that want to kill me. I carry a gun. No big deal. I didn't mean to kill Greg, I really didn't. I met him at his restaurant to set some things straight." He leans forward. "Treat my sister right or deal with me, is what I told him. And you know what he did?" Jacob scoffs. "He laughed in my face! Called me a loser, told me to get my own shit together before I tried to protect someone else and I just… lost it." He shakes his head. "Amelia deserves better than that. You know?"

Rigsby shrugs a shoulder. "Does she deserve to lose both her husband _and _brother?"

The man goes quiet.

Rigsby gives a small triumphant smile and stands up from the table, picking up the file and walking out without glancing back at Amelia Smith's brother.

"Did you know this whole time?" I ask Jane, smirking at him.

He looks surprised. "About…?" His eyes flicker down to my stomach before meeting my eyes.

"No. The brother."

"Oh. Yes."

"Thanks so much for the insight."

Jane shrugs and holds open the door for me, briefly placing his hand on the small of my back in his usual fashion as I walk through. "It's always good to explore other options, too."

"No, it's not. It's a waste of time."

I'm about to enter the break room when Jane grips my arm and spins me around. I open my mouth to snap at him for momentarily making my dizzy but the look in his eyes stops me. He looks scared, almost desperate. My eyes widen. "Jane, what's wrong?"

His eyes have suddenly gone dark and they search mine frantically. His intense stares burns but I don't – can't – look away. Then he shakes his head. "Nothing," he mutters, releasing me and squaring his shoulders. "Sorry. I thought you were going to fall."

"What?"

"If you need me, I'll be in the attic."

I watch him walk away with his shoulders slumped. I consider going after him, sitting him down and talking to him about all of this. Because I can tell it's bothering him. I'm not an idiot, after all. He's dying to know but he's afraid to find out. I want to talk to him. I want to talk to him about everything that was said and thought and wished for at that hotel bar, and I want to talk to him about the events that followed. I want him to _know_, but I don't all at the same time.

I love him. I have for a long time. He deserves to know the truth, and soon he will. I owe him that much. To others it may seem like I owe him nothing but I feel like I owe him everything for not leaving me six weeks ago. But I need to figure some things about before he knows the truth.

My mind wanders back to the baby. Each time I think of him or her, I grow anxious and nervous and completely petrified. But then I think back to what Jane said about being a parent and I allow myself to smile and be excited about becoming a mother. This is what I've wanted for years, right? Why not embrace it, especially now?

X

A month goes by and Jane and I still do not speak of my pregnancy.

But the silence means nothing when it lingers between us at all hours of the day. I often catch him stealing glances at my stomach, checking for swelling. More than once, I have considered bringing it up but I always decide against it, telling myself I'll do it another day, when we don't have a case. Or another day, when there isn't so much paperwork. Or another day, when I am not a complete coward.

And then, one day, it's _him _that brings it up.

"Have you had your first doctor's appointment?" he asks.

I look up from my paperwork to meet his eyes. He's sprawled out on my couch in my office, acting completely nonchalant about the question as if we talk about it all the time. I nod. "Yeah, a couple weeks ago."

"How'd that go?"

"Good," I answer cautiously. "Why?"

Jane shrugs. "Just curious." There's a pause before he asks, "Did you go alone?"

"Yes."

"I would have come with you."

"It was fine," I assure him. "You can't really see much anyway. You would have been bored."

He rolls his eyes. "I wasn't so much concerned about my entertainment, Lisbon. I would have gone with you _for _you."

"That's sweet, Jane. Really. But you don't have to do this."

"Do what?"

"_This." _I refuse to spell it out for him.

"What?" he asks, sincerely confused. "Be there for you?"

"Well, you-" I clamp my mouth shut before finishing, knowing that if I do, it'll hurt us both.

He looks intrigued. He stands up and walks toward my desk. "No, please. Go on."

I drop my eyes to my desk. "No."

I gasp as he takes my chin gently in one hand and tilts it up, so I am looking directly into his eyes. "Tell me, Teresa."

That damn first name card. It gets me every time. "It's just… before Red John died," I say slowly, watching his eyes harden at the sound of the serial killer's name, "you wouldn't have been interested in helping me. He _always _came first." My heart sinks as he removes his hand from my face. I know by now that I have hurt him, but for whatever freaking reason, I continue. "And I'm sorry, Jane, but I just…" I trail off, unable to finish.

"You don't trust me," he murmurs.

"It's not that."

"Yes, it is." He backs away. "I understand, Lisbon." He turns and walks toward the door.

Panic starts to build. "No, Jane, please don't go." I sound pathetic but I don't care. I've watched him leave way too many times for my liking.

He pauses in the doorway and glances back at me. "I'm not going anywhere, Lisbon," he promises before walking out.

X

I drive home in silence. No radio, no company, nothing.

Regardless of the countless number of times he's broken my heart, I _hate _hurting Jane. Not only is he very good at the wounded puppy dog look, but I never know how far I can push him before he takes off and it scares the hell out of me. Because I _can't _lose him. Not again. Those six months while he was in Vegas was pure hell and I don't know if I could survive a lifetime of it.

Back when Red John was still around, there were times where I considered killing Jane myself, with his manipulation and his lying and scheming and irresistible blue eyes. But I wouldn't have it any other way, or with anybody else.

Because he's _Jane. _And I'm Lisbon. We're Jane and Lisbon, as corny as it may sound.

I sigh as I park my car in front of my apartment building. I gather my things and get out of the car. I am on my way toward the staircase when I notice a familiar car parked a few spots down from mine. My lips twitch and I hurry to the driver's side and tap on the window. Jane jumps in surprise and stares up at me. I raise my brows and he opens his door. "Hello."

"Hi," I say shyly.

I back away so he can fully open the door and get out. He shuts the door behind him and puts his hands on his hips, sighing. "We should really talk."

"I agree," I reply, a hint of reluctance coloring my tone. I nod toward the staircase. "Come in, Jane."

I lead him up the stairs and struggle to unlock the door, for my hands are shaking slightly and I'm sure he notices. But he doesn't say anything. He simply places his hand on the small of my back – something he does often but this time it feels different – as I walk through the door. The pressure is light but still makes the hairs on the back of my neck raise.

He takes a seat at my kitchen table and I can't decide if it makes me more nervous or slightly more comfortable. He then gestures for me to sit across from him and I sigh. "I'm sorry," I blurt out, plopping down into the chair. "I didn't mean that I don't trust you. That isn't what I meant at all."

"Yes it is, Lisbon," he says sadly. "But you have every right _not _to trust me." He looks away. "You have done so much for me and I have given you little to nothing in return."

And suddenly, _I _am the one who is sad. Because it isn't true. Sometimes, I do feel that way. But then I get to thinking about all the times Jane has been here for me and they definitely add up more than I originally thought.

The time I was framed for murder. He believed me when I told him I didn't remember the night of the murder. He hypnotized me in an attempt to get my memory back. He helped me catch the man who did it to me. And last but certainly not least, he never lost his faith in me.

Sam Bosco. When he was killed, I was a wreck. And Jane comforted me in the most simple, uncomplicated way possible. He was _there._

Tommy Volker. That was when I began to understand the concept of revenge, and where Jane was coming from. And he was there, even if I didn't want him to be. _I want you to be careful, _he'd said.

Sheriff Hardy. He was the closest we'd ever been to Red John at the time, and he'd almost killed me. But Jane shot him. _Killed him, _for me. That was before Jane and I had even formed the strong bond that we have now, but he must have seen whatever little significance my life holds and chose to save me.

Jane cares about me.

And he _has _been here.

"No," I finally say firmly. "That's not true."

"But–"

"You're the best friend I've ever had," I decide aloud.

He looks up again and the corner of his mouth twitches slightly. "If that's the case, then you deserve so much better."

I shake my head. "Not possible."

There is silence between us for a long time. Jane's hand slides across the table and is now mindlessly playing with my fingers and I blush. The silence continues for a few minutes before Jane finally says, "I think I'm ready."

"For what?"

"I'm ready to find out, Lisbon."

I am stunned into silence as I sit there and stare at him like an idiot, unsure of what to say.

He abruptly releases my fingers and stands up. "So, you can't be more than a few weeks pregnant," he begins nervously. "It's been about a month since you've found out and you're not showing at all, so I'd say you're about – what? – eight weeks along?" He begins pacing and continues without giving me the chance to correct him. "Eight weeks, that's two months. It's been two months since Red John died in Los Angeles and I went into that bittersweet shock and you know what, Lisbon?" He runs his hands through his hair and I struggle to regain my normal heart rate. "That night before we found him, that night before I woke up with that horrid hangover, I can't remember it clearly. It's… it's blurry." He stops pacing and looks me in the eyes.

My hands begin to shake. "Jane," I whisper hoarsely.

He places his hands on the back of the chair he had been sitting in, as if he needs it to maintain his balance. "All I remember," he says quietly, "is the hotel bartender cutting me off, and suddenly you were _there, _Lisbon." Jane takes a deep breath. "And you said something about me having too much to drink and that I should go to… to _bed_."

My bottom lip begins to tremble as I think back to that night. I never want to think, let alone _speak_, of that night again.

Yet Jane is here, forcing me to relive every damn memory.

"Please stop," I say almost silently.

He doesn't. "Your arm went around my waist." He nods. "I remember that. I remember liking it."

"Jane–"

"And you led me to the elevator, and you took me up to my room."

I remain quiet but I can feel the tears beginning to pool in my eyes.

Jane walks slowly around the table and kneels in front of me, looking up at me with those cornflower blue eyes. He reaches up and takes both of my trembling hands in his. "Teresa," he murmurs. "I have to know. You have to be honest with me."

I bite my lip to keep it from quivering and nod. "Okay," I whimper pathetically.

"Is that my baby in there?"

As he speaks, he releases just one of my hands to lightly run his fingertips over my t-shirt covering my stomach but does not avert is eyes from mine. He stares, waiting for my reply.

The tears spill over and I shake my head warily. "No," I moan. I use my free hand to wipe my tears from my cheeks but they won't stop falling.

I never look away from his eyes.

They look confused, and angry, and even _hurt._

_I think, _Lorelei Martins had said, _that you do it to be close to Teresa Lisbon. I think you're a little bit in love with her._

_Good luck, Teresa. Love you._

_Ours is more of a platonic love._

And I know that I've broken his heart.

**TBC**

**A/N: **Don't hate me...

This story is definitely not over.

However, if you'd like some sort of insight on where this is going, I have four words for you. "Read between the lines."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Hmm. I enjoy reading all your reviews and reflecting on everyone's guesses about the answers behind this story. I am also pleased to report that one of my lovely reviewers has figured it out. Wondering if it's you? This chapter will let you know!

Another thing, the goal for this particular story was to puzzle its readers. I always planned on adding twists and details that would make the readers question their sanity. However, if it's gotten to the point where you are sincerely aggravated with me as a writer, I encourage you to take a break from this fic. Nothing personal, just some friendly advice. However, if you are enjoying it while being confused and excited at the same time, that's fantastic!

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Lisbon's POV**

I don't know what to expect.

He looks so hurt that I wonder what he will do.

He isn't saying anything. He's still kneeling in front of me, clasping my hand in his, but his face has fallen from hopeful to tragic and I can't help but feel terribly guilty.

I reach out to touch him. "Jane?"

"It's not mine," he whispers. His eyes are vacant. I've seen this look in his eyes several times, and none of them were pleasant situations. Almost all had to do with Red John, and I could always tell that he was building his walls higher by this damn look in his eyes. But I can't say I've ever been the _cause _for this particular stare, not until now, and I hate it.

"No," I answer with painful reluctance.

"Oh."

I wipe away another stray tear. "I'm sorry." I'm not sure why I am apologizing. Somehow it just seems like the right thing to do.

He shakes his head numbly. "Don't be," he says softly. He forces a smile, but it _is _forced. "I'm not sure what I was thinking. I should have known better." He tries to play it off like he thinks the whole situation is funny but I know better. He pats my hand affectionately and I am choked up once more. "_I'm _sorry, Lisbon. I shouldn't have come here." He stands and turns toward the door.

It's almost a reflex when my hand shoots out and grasps his, almost desperately. When he turns to look at me, my heart sinks at the look of pure heartbreak in his blue eyes. I stand. "Jane, we have to talk about this."

"There is nothing to talk _about_, Lisbon," he reminds me, a hint of regret in his tone.

My jaw clenches and I shake my head. "I hate it when you lie to me."

He lets out an unexpected groan of exasperation and yanks his hand from mine. "What would you like to talk about, Lisbon? You tell me. Give me a prompt. Because I honestly don't know what you want me to say."

"You're hurt."

We compete in a staring competition for a solid twenty seconds or so before he finally says, "I am not."

"Yes you are."

"What makes you think that?"

"The look in your eyes resembles the same way I felt when I found out about you and Lorelei."

In this moment I feel a sense of victory as I watch Patrick Jane at loss for words. He blinks a few times and opens his mouth as if he is about to speak and then shuts it. I take the opportunity to reach out and touch him again. I brush my fingertips along his and he glances down at my wandering hand. He curls his fingers around mine and squeezes lightly. "I wish I could say that I don't know why I'm upset," he whispers, "but it would be a lie."

I stroke his knuckles with my thumb. "I know." I swallow. "I'm sorry."

He slowly disentangles our fingers and shoves his hands in his pockets. "I should go," he says, moving toward the front door.

I'm not sure what empowers me to do it. Maybe I am just so sick of us dancing around these inevitable feelings that have been surfacing. Maybe I am afraid he will leave me for good this time. Or maybe it's just the damn hormones. But I find myself blurting out the truth all at once. "It was supposed to be you," I exclaim. His hand freezes on the doorknob and he glances back over his shoulder with a confused look on his face. "That night, at the hotel," I go on in a hurry, "the night before Van Pelt killed Red John, I didn't come down to the bar because I got a call saying you were wasted. No one called me. I was looking for you, Jane. I was looking for _you._" I wait patiently for the realization to hit him and when it does, he drops his hand from the doorknob and turns his body toward me completely.

"Excuse me?" he says incredulously.

"We'd just gotten that note from him," I go on, referring to _him_ as Red John. "You know, the one where he was prodding you about me?" I refuse to recite it aloud, even though I had it perfectly memorized.

_I've been watching you pathetically attempt to change the rules of the game I love, _the note had said. _Watch ME take away the one thing you love most of all. I look forward to seeing Teresa soon._

He didn't even try to pretend like he didn't know what the serial killer was talking about. He simply looked at me and promised, _"I will not let anything happen to you."_

Now, he nods slowly. "Yes."

"It freaked me out," I confess. "I got to thinking, and I began to worry that any second may be my last. He could have literally taken me anytime, anywhere, and we couldn't do anything about it, if we were being honest." Another tear falls onto my cheek and I curse under my breath. I wipe at it with the back of my hand. "I had a plan," I explain in a hoarse voice. "I was going to tell you everything I was thinking, demand that you forget about Red John for just a little while, and... kiss you."

My cheeks flame as I explain my plans to Jane and they grow even redder as I examine his expression. His mouth is open slightly and his eyes are wide in disbelief. I don't exactly blame him. My confession _is _a bit shocking, even to me. He takes another tentative step toward me and my bottom lip begins to tremble.

"Why me?" he asks cautiously.

I roll my eyes in an exasperated fashion. I will not spell it out for him. I have too much to lose. "Why do you think?"

"I don't know what to think anymore."

I swallow heavily and shake my head. "That's really too bad." I turn and walk toward the staircase.

I don't quite get there.

A hand grips my elbow and pulls me into a warm embrace. Before I know what's happening, Jane's lips are on mine and his hands are digging into my hips. I kiss him back with enthusiasm and my arms find their way around his neck. His arms loop all the way around my waist and he is pulling me closer. My head is spinning and my heart is racing and I am almost overwhelmed by the disappointment that overcomes me when he pulls back and rests his forehead against mine.

We stare at each other for a while before he reaches up and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear.

"I'm sorry," I whisper quietly, allowing my eyes to flutter shut. I don't necessarily have a solid reason for apologizing. I can't even decide if he deserves an apology. But he is Jane, and I am Lisbon. Even though we aren't together, we are _Jane and Lisbon_ and the thought of one of us choosing another companion is almost unthinkable, which is why I was so tormented by the fact that he slept with Lorelei Martins.

I feel like I cheated.

But I didn't.

Jane sighs and frames my face with his hands, pressing a warm kiss to my forehead. "I should go," he says again.

I nod reluctantly. "Okay."

He nods and drops his hands, leaning away from me only about a fraction of an inch. "Answer one question. Please."

"Okay."

"Who's the father?"

I let out an involuntary squeak and reach up to cover my mouth with my hands. I had allowed myself to forget about that for the few minutes Jane had kept me distracted. Jane's eyes widen and I suddenly feel the tears burning behind my eyes. He reaches out to touch my face but pulls his hand away. "Lisbon?"

"It's Adam Ross," I blurt.

He looks puzzled for a moment. "Who-" But then he stops and I can almost see the light bulb shining above his head. His eyes transform from forlorn to understanding and suddenly he lunges for me again, gathering me in his arms and holding me so tightly I question whether or not he will let go anytime soon. But I don't mind. I relax into his embrace and let myself sob.

I feel him bury his face into my hair. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, over and over again. He keeps repeating it, not that it changes anything but somehow the combination of his hug and his soothing voice calms me down and eventually my sobs turn to soft snivels.

The father of my child is dead.

He was Red John's last victim.

X

**Jane's POV**

I keep her in my arms for a total of fourteen entire minutes.

If I were a selfless man I could say that it's all for her, that I'm simply a good person comforting my friend in need. But everyone in the state of California knows that isn't the truth. It is true that I _am _attempting to comfort her, to make her feel better, even though there is no changing what she is feeling inside. The man who fathered her unborn child was killed by a man who basically only murdered him to hurt me. Lisbon is in pain, and I know I have to be there for her.

But it's not the only reason I am quick to pull her into my embrace. I _like _her there. She fits perfectly.

When she finally speaks, her voice is raspy due to her minor breakdown. "I thought I had accepted this," she says.

Reluctantly, I loosen my arms around her but do not let her go far. "What?" I ask gently.

"I thought I had accepted the fact that my baby was going to grow up without its father," she croaks. She scoffs and shrugs. "But who knows? Maybe if he were alive he wouldn't want anything to do with us. It's a perfectly reasonable possibility…" She trails off weakly. I know she wants to add, _because I had a one night stand with stranger _but she is thinking of my feelings.

I grasp her chin in one hand and tilt her head up so I can look her in the eyes. "No stable human being on this planet could ever willingly abandon you, do you understand me?"

"You did."

She doesn't mean to say it; I can see it all over her face. She starts to apologize quickly but I wave a dismissive hand and smirk. "I said stable," I say lightly, "_and _I said willingly. There was nothing _willing _about me running away from you."

"I didn't mean to sound so bitter."

"You didn't. You sounded honest."

She smiles softly and tentatively stretches up on her tiptoes and brushes her lips against mine. It isn't as intense as the last kiss but it still sends the same bolts of electricity shooting through me that I'm sure she can feel. "Thank you, Jane," she says quietly.

"What for?"

"Staying."

X

I don't leave for a long time.

Or perhaps I _can't_.

We don't talk about Adam Ross at all, nor do we speak of the night she was with him when she was apparently supposed to be with me.

Instead, she tells me about her plans for the rest of her pregnancy, and when the baby is born. She even gives me a little insight on the blurred images she has of the first eighteen years of its life.

I hold her hand the entire time. It encourages her to open up to me.

While I still have not decided exactly how I feel about all of it, I know that I will be there for her every step of the way until she forces me to leave. It makes me excited because I _can _be there for her. Red John is dead. He isn't constantly forcing me to look over my shoulder or over _her _shoulder to make sure he isn't creeping up on her, which was always my greatest fear.

Now that he's out of the picture, I can finally be there for her without being afraid of losing her if I get too close.

"Have you thought of names?" I ask her after she finishes telling me about her first doctor's appointment.

She shakes her head. "Not yet. I figure it's still early."

"Yes, but you must have something in mind."

Lisbon shrugs. "There are definitely names I dislike, that will _never _be on the table."

"Like what?"

"Like, Jane for a girl. Or Patrick for a boy."

"Well, that's just rude."

She laughs.

God, I've missed her laugh lately.

It's getting late and I am sorely tempted to stay just a little longer. But I know if I do I won't be able to ever drag my ass out that door. So I sigh and tell her I really should go this time.

She and I stand from the couch and walk to the front door. She thanks me again, though I'm still not entirely sure why she is thanking me.

And when I kiss her, I find it excruciatingly difficult to stop. The feeling I get is electrifying. I never felt it with Erica Flynn or Lorelei. But this is different. This is Lisbon.

When I am finally able to part with her and walk out the front door, I am forming a plan in my head.

X

She will never see it coming.

I can't decide if I am disappointed or encouraged by that fact.

I ponder this internal dilemma as I watch her from the comfort of my couch. She's consulting with the rest of the team about the latest case. She's asking Grace if anything sticks out in the victim's phone records, and now she's spouting off orders to Rigsby and Cho to go follow up on a lead and now she's looking at me, clearly debating on what she should do with me. It's an everyday conflict for her. _Do I really want Jane follow up on a lead on his own or should I just leave him on his couch? _

She clearly decides with the latter and gives me a small smile before retreating to her office, and as she exits the bullpen, she subconsciously places her hand on her belly.

My mind begins to wander.

This child is not mine. Am I upset with her for sleeping with someone who is not me? Not particularly. I am hurt, of course. Perhaps a bit jealous. But I slept with Lorelei. Not that Lisbon was interested in getting even with me, but in my mind, it serves as unintentional poetic justice. We weren't together. It isn't like she cheated on me. She deserves happiness. Do I wish this child were mine? I'm not sure. I love Lisbon. With Red John out of the picture I can safely _and _sanely admit to that. Maybe, on some level, I _do _wish it were mine. It would make everything less complicated, for me _and _for her.

Lastly, even though this child isn't mine, will I still invest my time and energy into helping Lisbon with whatever she needs?

Absolutely. Any other option would be unthinkable at this point in time. I'm not about to walk away from her.

X

My heart is pounding as I knock on her door.

I briefly consider turning and fleeing, but remind myself that I am no coward. Even if I am.

But then she opens the door and smiles at me, and I gain a bit of my courage back.

"Hi, Jane," she greets me sweetly.

I like how things are between us. I'm not pushing her away and she isn't shutting me out. Things might be confusing but we can figure it out.

My heart warms and I smile back. "Hello."

She steps to the side of the door a bit. "Do you want to come in?"

I nod wordlessly and step across the threshold. She shuts the door and walks into the kitchen. "Would you like some tea? I might have some Earl Grey around here somewhere." She begins rummaging through the cupboards and I spring into action.

I get down on one knee and pull out the black box from my jacket pocket.

"Oh, here's some!" she exclaims excitedly, pulling the box of tea from one of her cupboards. She turns around to face me and her expression goes from pleasant to shocked. The box falls from her hands and clatters to the floor. "Jane, what are you doing?"

"Teresa Lisbon, will you marry me?"

**TBC**

_For some reason, that was a beast to write. I'm sure it was just as difficult and confusing to read. However, I hope I still have you interested, and I hope you will continue reading and reviewing. Thanks for your support! _


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